


Get a Little Closer, Then Fold

by Lunar_Resonance



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, fake dating au, gratuitous pining and fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5622172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunar_Resonance/pseuds/Lunar_Resonance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of their friends' endless attempts to set them up, Maka and Soul team up to teach them a lesson.  But it's two months into their plan now and feelings are starting to get real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this prompt: “our asshole mutual friends set us up on a blind date and didn’t tell us it was a blind date, so instead of getting to know each other we spent the entire ‘date’ scheming against them and decided an awesome way to get back at them would be to pretend to date and then have a horrendous breakup but now that we’re two months into this charade we’re not sure what’s real and what’s fake anymore”
> 
> I actually wrote this for SoMa Week on tumblr this year but am doing a revamp of the fic so I will be rolling out the rest of the chapters within the week hopefully. Happy reading!

Maka squints down at the man sitting at her and Liz’s usual table who, in spite of his white hair and overly slouched shoulders, can’t be much more older than her. “You’re not Liz,” she mumbles under her breath.

Evidently her voice carries because he raises his head-his crimson eyes are electric and there’s suddenly a tingling sensation in her palms that wasn’t there before.  The bored expression on his face drains away and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk.  “And you are definitely not Blake.”

She freezes in the middle of excusing herself.  “Wait, Blake?”  She places a hand on the table, scrutinizing him.  “Blue hair? Works as a stuntman for DWMA Studios?”

“Once ran into a burning building for the vine and walked away with nothing more than a pair of singed eyebrows?” he asks.  “Yeah, we’re friends from work.”

The urge to throttle the soul out of someone has never been greater.  Unfortunately, the person Maka wishes to take her frustrations out on is not here- she’s probably laughing it up with Blake as they congratulate themselves on a job well done at setting up their perennially single friends.

So instead she throws herself in the chair opposite the stranger (who isn’t as much as a stranger as she believed) and crosses her arms, muttering violent promises to herself.

“Um, not be rude,” he says tentatively after a minute, “But I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Betrayal,” she fumes as she drums her nails in irritation against the table.  “Has Blake ever mentioned someone named Maka to you?”

“Yeah, he ha-hold on.”  He narrows his eyes.  “You’re not Maka, are you?”

She purses her lips, nodding.  “And you’re Soul.”

“Damn it.”  He rubs his temple and shakes his head.  “I can’t believe I fell for it.”

“Yup.”

They lapse into silence for several moments.  

Then they speak at the same time. “Those assholes.”

Maka looks at Soul in surprise, an awkward laugh falling from her lips.  She sighs and breathes deeply through her nose.  “I’m really sorry about all of this.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Soul says, waving his hand.  “Those two, on the other hand…”

“They’re relentless.”  She uncrosses her arms.  “Knowing Liz, my rant will most likely go in through one ear and straight out the other.”

“Yeah, Blake’s only going to take this as a challenge to prove himself as the ultimate matchmaker,” he says glumly.

Maka laughs again and she leans forward excitedly, a thought popping into her mind.  “You know…” she trails off, mouth going dry as Soul meets her gaze.  “Never mind.”

His eyes study her face curiously.  “What?”

Her face reddens under his gaze and she feels ridiculous for opening her mouth.  “It’s nothing.”

“ _Nothing_ is nothing,” Soul says firmly.  “And that was the look of something.”

She clasps her hands together, wondering how to phrase her idea (if it could even be called that) without sounding weird.  “Well, I was thinking about a way we could get revenge-”

“I’m listening.”

“…and a way to get Blake and Liz off our backs,” she finishes.  She throws up a hand.  “But I have to warn you, it’s kinda out there.”

He smiles for the first time since they met, sharp teeth reminding Maka of a jack-o-lantern.  “Out there is my kind of thing.”


	2. Chapter 1

“You ready?”

Maka looks up at the sound of Liz’s voice, blinking in confusion at the red lacy dress she wears.  “Why are you wearing that?”

She moves a stray lock of hair in place, snaps her compact mirror shut and purses her perfectly glossed lips in a delicate pout.  “Please tell me you got my text.”

“I forgot my phone at home.”

“Well, you had to have seen the email.”

“Email?” she repeats, pointedly looking at her broken computer, the cracked screen (courtesy of Soul) grinning at her in a jagged smile.

“On your laptop, obviously.”

“I didn’t bring it in today,” she says, piling more files on an already teetering mountain of paperwork perched on her desk.  “I wanted to have this script edited and sent off to Kid before the end of the year.”  She glances up at Liz and notices the change in her expression.  “What is it?”

“The Christmas party’s date got changed to today,” she says, putting a hand on her hip. “Last-minute but hey, I’m not in charge of organizing that fiasco.”

“What?” Maka splutters, pen slipping from her fingers.  This changed everything.  “But it’s always on Christmas Eve.”

Liz shrugs.  “Lord Death wanted to see his son for the holidays.”

“Naturally.”  She picks up her pen again, mind already working furiously to adjust to this new development.  Her fingers itch for her coffee mug and she regrets letting Soul talk her into swearing off caffeine.  “Am I the only one who finds it strange he insists on being called Lord Death?”

“No, but as long as he’s signing my paychecks, I’d call him Mickey Mouse if he asked.” Liz pushes herself off from where she leans on the door frame.  “Anyways, it’s a good thing I came because you can’t go to the party if you’re wearing that.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Maka asks.  She scratches a final note on the script and puts it to the side.  “It’s always been casual attire for the party.”

“If the party was in the studio’s lounge like it usually is, it would be,” Liz says, producing a bag from nowhere.  “But Patti convinced Kid to hold it at Gallows Manor since all the decorations are there anyways and Kid has to leave first thing tomorrow.  So it’s formal wear now.”

Maka pictures the manor in her head: macabre even in a place like Death City and imposing from the hill where it overlooked everything.  She couldn’t come up with a place that has less Christmas spirit if she tried.  “And when does it start?”

“Little over an hour,” Liz says, taking a seat in the chair in front of Maka’s desk.  “Patti’s already gone ahead to help Kid with decorating, although hers and Kid’s vision are somewhat...different.”  She plops the bag on the desk, ruining the pile of papers Maka just finished arranging.  “Merry Christmas.”

“This is-” Maka takes out a short and strapless emerald-colored dress.  “Different.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Liz corrects her.  “And I’m sure Soul will agree when he sees you.”

“Soul, wh-oh right,” Maka says, catching herself.  Even though they’ve kept up this ruse for two months now, she still isn’t used to the idea of her fake boyfriend.

Not that it will matter for much longer.

She picks up the bag and goes into the bathroom connected to her office.  As she begins to undress, it occurs to her that Soul may have missed the memo like she did and she hopes she’ll be able to find him before he leaves the studio.

“How have things been going with him anyways?”  Liz’s voice is nonchalant but Maka can hear the curiosity hidden in it.  “I haven’t caught him around here since the computer incident and that was two weeks ago.”

She fights a grin as she takes off her shirt.  “It’s going.”   

While the unfortunate accident with Soul’s elbow and the computer hadn’t been part of the staged rendezvous they’d planned ever since they put her idea in motion, it had been the final piece of evidence to their friends that they were indeed head over heels for each other.  Although in reality, she had tripped over one of the mountains of papers in her office and straight into Soul; they had both landed on her desk just as Liz had entered the room.

A bite of impatience creeps into Liz’s words.  “And that means?”

“Meaning it’s only been two months, Liz, I’m just getting to know him,” she answers as she shimmies into the dress and zips it up.  It’s not exactly a lie: Soul generally spent their “dates” over at her apartment; they sit hunkered down on her couch and exchange tidbits about their day and rants about the respective bullshit in their lives while Soul mixes audio and she makes drafts bleed green with her pen.

“From what I’ve seen, that appears to involve finding out how sharp those teeth are.”

Maka ignores the blush rising in her cheeks as she checks her reflection in the mirror, letting her hair fall loose from the ponytail she normally keeps them in.  Thankfully, the dress is the same length as the skirts she wore in high school and the matching heels are not nearly as high as the ones Liz wears on a daily basis.  “That’s my business, thank you very much.”

“I’m gonna take that as a yes.”  The gloating smile radiates from Liz like a beacon of smugness and self-satisfaction.  “I bet he bites.  Is that why you wore that scarf for a week?”

“Of course not!”  She yanks open the door, leveling her with a glare.  “We hav-”

She smirks.  “Don’t try to deny it.” 

“Deny what?”

They both jump at the voice behind them.  Soul stands in the doorway and looks bemusedly at Liz, hands in his pockets and shoulders rounded.  

The sight of Soul in formal attire sidelines Maka’s train of thought and she swallows, mouth strangely dry.  

When they had discussed the Christmas party two weeks ago, they’d both agree the party would be the perfect note to end their charade with-they would make a scene rivaling the hysteria of Kid’s breakdowns and perhaps that would finally  _ finally _ convince Blake and Liz to give up on their determination to find a partner for their friends.  But Soul had still balked about the ridiculousness of having to stuff himself in a suit, grumbling until Maka’s reassurances that he would look fine convinced him otherwise.

She had to admit now that he looked more than fine.  The black suit with red pinstripes was striking against his skin and hair and the combination of Soul standing at his actual height along with the cut of the suit outlines his lean musculature in a way that makes her heart pick up speed.

When he moves his gaze from Liz to Maka, something like regret turns the taste in her mouth sour and she fights the jitters sprouting in her stomach at the way his questioning expression turns blank, telling herself it’s just from Liz being in the same room as Soul since the computer incident.  She finds her voice.  “I was just about to go look for you.”  

“I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” Liz says serenely, knowing smirk back in place.  She rises from the chair and winks at Soul as she passes him.  “Don’t be too late to the party, okay?”

If Maka hadn’t been blushing before, she is now.

“What were you talking about?” he asks as Liz’s footsteps fade away.

“Just relationship stuff,” she answers tersely, equally confused and irked by her annoyance at him not commenting on her appearance.  “I take it you knew about the change in plans.”

He nods.  “I got the email before I left for work.” 

“Thanks for telling me.”  She grabs her purse and heads out of the office to the elevator, Soul falling in step with her.

“Filming ran way late.” He presses the button for the elevator.  “If it wasn’t one machine breaking, it was a problem with how the sound was recording.  I did try calling you though.”

“Which I had to forget of all days,” she sighs as the elevator doors open.  She looks at Soul-he wears exhaustion like a worn blanket-and she softens.  “We don’t have to go, if you’re too tired.”

He shakes his head.  “I’ll manage.”

* * *

Soul stares as the brightly lit mansion comes into view.  “I’m not sure why I expected something normal.”

Maka raises an eyebrow, capping her lip gloss.  “You’ve lived here how long again?”

“Six months.”

“Then, you have no excuse,” she says teasingly as the gates to Gallows Manor creak open.  “Anyways, this is a bit reminiscent of the Gothic style, didn’t you say you liked that?”

He inches his car forward, following where a servant gestures for him to park.  “Yeah, but you have to admit the guillotines are a bit much.”

“I’ll give you that,” she says, unsnapping her seat belt and stepping out of the car.  She shivers, the chill of the night nipping at her hands and feet, and rubs her shoulders.  “Come on, I’m dying out here.”

“Hang on.” 

“What?”

Soul rounds the car and holds out his hand.  “We’re a couple, remember?”

“Oh.”  Maka closes the distance between them and takes his hand.  His palm is rough from his work on the sets of the studio but that isn’t what she focuses on.  “You’re warm,” she breathes blissfully, magnetizing to his side.

“Something has to make up for my cold heart,” he says as they walk up the manor’s driveway.  “Your hand feels like ice.”

“The perils of poor blood circulation.”

His laugh is a low rumble as they walk up the steps to the mansion.  However, the look on his face is completely serious when he stops before the doors.  “So,” he starts, “This is it, then?”

The feeling of his thumb rolling over her knuckles keeps Maka from thinking for a moment.  Then she processes his words and looks up.  “The plan hasn’t changed, right?” she says, ignoring her plummeting heart.  “Do you want to do it now or later?”

“Later, I think,” he says.  “Might as well enjoy the party together peacefully, right?”

Her reply is interrupted by Blake. 

“There’s the two lovebirds,” he says with a grin that is even more self-congratulatory than the one Liz gave Maka earlier.

“If you ever refer to me by that again, I will kill you,” she informs him.

“Welcome, you two.”  Tsubaki, one of the studio’s casting directors, walks up to them, her ivory dress making her radiant in the light of the hall.  She turns to Blake, holding out a tie.  “You forgot this.”

He turns his nose up at the tie, lips pursed in a childish pout.  “I will not be constrained by that monstrosity.”

Her smile grows saccharine and threatening.  “You forgot this.”

“But-”

Maka pulls on Soul’s hand and starts to move away.  “I think we’re going to go inside.”

Tsubaki waves at the two without breaking eye contact with Blake.  “Ballroom’s straight ahead.”

“If I don’t get some food soon, I’m going to die,” Soul moans as they walk out of the hall.  “I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“Don’t be so drama-” Maka stops mid-sentence as they walk into the ballroom.  “Wow.”

Half of the ballroom is decorated with elegant garlands and wreaths spaced evenly on the pillars.  A pine tree standing in the corner, golden baubles dotted among the lights.  The other half looks like the inside of a Christmas store exploded.  Glitter rains down like colorful and sparkly snow from the ceiling and covers absolutely everything in its realm of reach, including the seven-foot giraffe wearing a Santa hat.

Soul apparently is not surprised enough to comment on it, tugging on her arm impatiently.  “Come on, I smell sushi.”

“You like seafood?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s my favorite,” he answers as they get in the growing line for the buffet lined against the wall.  “You don’t?”

“Not even a little bit, the smell does me in every time.”  The line moves at a steady pace and she lets go of Soul to grab plates.  “Just look out for mistletoe.  I don’t want to be forced to kiss someone with fishy breath.”

“And I don’t want to be forced to kiss someone with bad taste.”

“Funny,” she snorts as she piles her plate with food. 

He grins.  “I try.”

“I hope you’re enjoying the party,” someone says from behind them as they finish going through the buffet table.  “Because I’ve just entered the eighth circle of hell.”

If it wasn’t for the white stripes peeking out from the veil of glitter cloaking him, Maka wouldn’t recognize Kid.  He’s the messiest she’s ever seen him, the rainbow-colored glitter sticking to every part of him catching the light in a way that makes him painful to look at directly.

Soul voices her thoughts aloud.  “Who turned you into a walking disco ball?”

“Liz got Patti a glitter gun for Christmas,” Kid answers glumly.  “And when I tried to stop her, she said she’d let me live to regret it.”  He sighs and his breath comes out in a sparkly puff.  “I didn’t know it’d be this much though.”

“I’m sure it’ll come out,” Maka says reassuringly.

“In a month,” Soul adds, which earns him a sharp prod from her.

“I’m more impressed than I am mad at this point,” Kid says, flicking some of the glitter off his suit in vain.  “It is this kind of creativity that makes her the best set designer we have.  Though meeting with Father and our clients tomorrow might not go over as well,” he tacks on with a grimace. 

He begins to drift away mournfully.  “Anyways, enjoy the party.”

Soul fishes his phone out of his pocket and waggles his eyebrows at Maka.  “Dare me to take a picture and send it to everyone?”

She rolls her eyes, biting back her smile.  “Not with your work phone.”

“Good point.”

They find seats at one of the many tables positioned around the dance floor and eat in a comfortable silence.  The band playing is not the same one that Kid usually hires for the party, their music much more upbeat and generating more of a crowd on the dance floor than Maka had ever seen, couples sweeping across in time with the tempo.

Soul leans back in his chair when he finishes and closes his eyes.  “I wasn’t really looking forward to coming but the food makes it worth it.”

“You’re not a fan of dancing?” she asks, placing her napkin on her plate.

“No way.”

“Then I guess this is going to be unpleasant.”  She stands and holds out her hand.  “Come on.”

He opens an eye lazily.  “Nope.”

She lowers her voice to a loud whisper.  “Weren’t you the one to say we have to do couple-like things?”

“Aren’t we breaking up soon?”

The daggers of his words are hard to bear with a straight face but she keeps her voice steady.  “Fine.”  She sits back down.  “I was just trying to make the party fun for both of us.”

He opens both eyes.  “Maka-”

“There you are!” Liz walks up to their table.  “I’ve been looking for you two.”

“Patti really livened the place up,” Maka says, digging up a cheerful smile.  She twists away from Soul to look at Liz and gestures around the room.  “I’ve never seen so much glitter in one place before.”

“I may have suggested the idea to her.  And I may have also hired the new band.”  Liz flips her hair to one side.  “I could not stand being the one of the only people dancing again.”  She nodded to the people on the dance floor.  “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be out there?”

Maka opens her mouth, ready to set off the beginning of their “break up” scene, but Soul answers.  “You’re right.”

Words caught in her throat, she turns in disbelief to see him holding out a hand.  “Ready?”

The weight of Liz’s gaze pushes her into taking his hand wordlessly.

“Have fun,” she calls from the table as they head to the dance floor. 

Maka tries to crush the small wave of irritation in her chest as she and Soul begin to dance a waltz. 

“Close one, huh?” Soul says.

She presses her mouth into a line.  “Right.”

Her frustration only grows the more he tries to talk with her, giving curt replies to his small talk.  She snaps out of it when she steps on his foot.  “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, not looking okay at all.  They dance in silence for a bit until he speaks again.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she answers.  And it really is nothing, she tells herself sternly.  There’s no reason for her to be so vexed.

“That’s not what your face says.”

She says the first thing that springs to mind.  “I just thought you would have wanted to tell Liz then.”  She stares at a point just above his shoulder.  “And you didn’t want to dance anyways.”

“Well, Blake’s disappeared with Tsubaki to who knows where,” Soul says.  He raises an eyebrow at her.  “I don’t know about you but I don’t want to interrupt whatever they’re doing.”

Inwardly, Maka rails at herself for being so happy at getting to continue their (fake) relationship.  

Outwardly, she smiles and says, “Another time then?”

Soul nods once.  “Soon.”

Even though it’s the right answer, she’s still disappointed.

“And Maka?”

Her eyes move back to his and for an instant, she thinks she can see her feelings reflected in his face.  “Yes?”

“I want to dance with you.”

* * *

“You’re sure you don’t want me to walk you in?” Soul asks as Maka gathers her things, his car parked outside her apartment.

She shook her head.  “No need for you to get cold too.”

He looks unconvinced but he shrugs.  “If you insist.”

She’s about to say good night when she pauses, hand on the car handle.  “Sorry for being weird earlier.”

“You were right about dancing,” he says, shaking his head.  “It was fun.”  He grins at her.  “Despite all the times you stepped on my feet.”

She smiles.  “I never claimed to be a good dancer.”  She forces the words out before she can stop herself.  “So when do you want to tell Liz and Blake?”

“I was thinking a month of being ‘serious’ would make telling them more satisfying,” he answers after a pause.  “Plus, I’m kinda liking having the excuse of being on a date with you to avoid social responsibilities.”

Maka can only hope the relief in her voice is not apparent.  “We still spend it together though.”

“Yeah, but hanging out with you is easy,” he says.  “Even with your questionable taste in music.”  He looks at her.  “You alright with it?”

The hope bubbling in Maka’s chest dies.   _ Easy.   _ The budding feelings she had for him were anything but easy.  Meaning there was no way he could feel the same way about her.

“Yes,” she says quietly.  “I’m good with it.”


	3. Chapter 2

2 Months later

* * *

The remnants of sleep itch underneath Soul's eyelids as he is barreled into the side of the flower shop's entrance by a burly man muttering about "leaving Tadpole Jackson at home alone."

Scowling, Soul dives back into the throng of people bottlenecking the door with an enthusiasm he's never shown at 6 a.m. His resolution not to murder anyone today wears thin when he smacked in the face by a very aggressive soccer mom's purse.

 _Why are you here,_ his brain chants at him while his heart beats _foolfoolfool_ against his chest.

He grits his teeth-he shouldn't even be awake but he is.

The lone rose floating in the water of the bucket is missing several petals while the ones that remain are splayed out like someone had stepped on them. Fishing the flower out of the water, Soul stares at it mournfully as it falls forward, stem snapped nearly in two, and another petal detaches and drifts to the floor. That he identifies so strongly with a flower shows exactly how far he has fallen.

The next forty-five minutes are spent searching the rest of the store in vain for a rose; when seven o'clock creeps around and he still isn't on his way to pick up Maka, he panics and plucks up a random bouquet of white flowers, hands going clammy as he waits in a line that seems to grow longer instead of shorter.

He wipes his palms on his shirt as he waits-he shouldn't be agonizing this much over a Valentine's Day gift for his fake girlfriend but he is.

"Oh, gardenias," the cashier coos as she rings him up. "Someone has a secret love, I see."

His fingers fumble in pulling out his credit card. Words tangle his tongue and finally he manages a strangled, "What?"

She points to the gigantic flower chart hanging behind her at the front of the shop and he marvels at how the universe continues to make him the butt of its jokes before glancing at the crowd teeming behind him and turning to pay, hoping Maka isn't fluent in the language of flowers.

By a small miracle or cruel twist of fate, he arrives at Maka's apartment early. The rising sun bites through the morning fog as he turns off the car and picks up the box of chocolates, turning it over in his hands.

Anxiety siphons itself through a fidgeting leg and doubt, his ever-present companion, pounces on him with a prompt voracity. Not only did he fail to get the right flower for the occasion but the only way he could be more cliche is if he'd prepared a sappy love confession to deliver along with his gifts.

The urge to run away is drowned out by the desire to hear Maka's voice. Soul leans his head against the headrest, closes his eyes and presses at his eyelids until he sees stars.

He shouldn't have fallen for Maka but he did.

It was Christmas that tied this noose around his heart, he thinks. The way his chest had tightened at how her face fell when he refused to dance with her should have been the first sign. The way her smile had planted a warmth in his stomach when she agreed to "date" for one more month should have been the second.

But no, it hadn't been until the last week of January when he found himself flipping to 90's sitcoms during his time at her apartment just to hear Maka laugh that his feelings were made painfully aware to him. His trigger response to flee and withdraw was numbed by the brightness of her presence and he had helplessly watched as the rest of the week had passed by at a speed much too quick for his taste, waking up on the thirty-first with the grim air of a condemned prisoner.

And then, Maka-owner of one of the most detailed planners he's ever seen-never gave the cue to stage their break-up. There had been no discussion, nothing at all. The day had simply slipped by and at the end of it, they were still a couple.

He had been too shocked and grateful for the reprieve to question it. But later that night, when sleep evaded him and unbidden thoughts invaded his head, there was no way he could blame Maka's inaction on forgetfulness.

The most obvious answer he had ruled out almost immediately. Maka was an open book and although she hadn't broached the subject in weeks, she had been quite vocal in her fury over being involuntarily set up when she had made it plain to Liz she wasn't interested in dating anyone. If she had changed her mind, he would have been told, of this he is sure.

His resolve to clear the air had melted the moment she'd settled herself into the passenger seat the next morning, holding out his tea thermos while she sipped on her decaf coffee.

He was (is) not ready to let go of the time they share together. If she was okay with letting sleeping dogs lie, he was too selfish to wake them.

But here they are, officially two weeks past the expiration of their artificial relationship, and his talent for ignoring imploding life problems is stretching dangerously close to its limit. _But_ he also values her friendship too much to ruin it with a single conversation and so he will let this time bomb explode in his face and deal with the fallout later.

A headache buds at his temples. He never asked for life to be this complicated but somehow he can't regret it either.

Sharp rapping on the passenger window causes him to jump. Maka quirks an eyebrow upward through the glass and he unlocks the doors, taking his thermos from her as she slides into her seat. "Don't tell me you're hitting old age early."

His retort is cut off by the flowers lying in plain sight on the console. He considers if feigning a coughing fit would be enough to distract her from noticing him batting away them to the back of the car.

"Oh, what are these?"

Too late.

He awaits his doom with what he hopes is a dry nonchalance. "Gardenia jasminoides."

"Did you google how to pronounce that?" She takes a whiff of the flowers. "These are pretty."

His relief that Maka apparently does not know gardenia's meaning takes the bite out of his words. "Some dying flowers for your office."

She snorts. "You're quite the romantic." She rubs a petal between her fingers before looking up. "Should I have gotten you something?"

_Just you._

"It's fine, this is something I wanted to do for you." He pauses, feels the weight of his words and fumbles to correct himself without broaching the topic of their relationship. "I mean, I know we never talked about it but I figured-if you're uncomfortable, I can ke-"

"No," she interrupts. "I needed something to liven up my office."

"Oh," he says. "Okay, then." He searches desperately for something else to say before noticing something off about her wardrobe.

"Are you going to a funeral?" He eyes her all-black attire and glances down at her shoes, combat boots with the toes tipped with metal. "Or a rock concert?"

"Very funny," she replies, sweeping her hair into a ponytail. "Don't you know what today is?"

"Valentine's Day?"

"Yes," she says. "And?"

"Aaaaaand?"

She gives him a look. "You're on the office's social mailing list, aren't you?"

"I ducked out after Blake's repeated demands for a New Year's flash mob upped my inbox count to the thousands."

"Fair enough," she says as he merges onto the road. "It'll make the Cupid Games more interesting for you."

"Is whatever you're referring to another Death City tradition?" The car slows as the stoplight ahead of them turns red. "Because the foreigner is confused."

"More like Death City Studio tradition," she answers. "Back when Lord Death was still running things, business got rocky and it looked like the studio was going to go under. Since it was a holiday, spirits were especially low. Lord Death found some extra glitter from an old set, paired people up, made an office pool for a prize dinner and the rest is history. Things began to pick up after that so he decided to make it an annual event."

"And that explains the outfit?"

" _That's_ because Blake and Tsubaki are the game's designers this year," she says. "The people who win the previous year get to make the rules for next year's games and change the studio however they see fit." An anticipatory excitement enters her voice. "Knowing those two, it's going to be brutal."

Soul watches as a competitive gleam lights up her face, reminded of the fact that all five feet and two inches of Maka is comprised of fire and steel. He continues to stare at her for a moment and then shakes his head. "You Death City natives are weird."

"Says the wannabe vampire."

"My weirdness is genetic."

Her laughter leaves a buzzing sensation on his skin. "I'll let you think you won that one."

* * *

When they arrive at the studio, they find the main building's windows painted black. Soul scrutinizes the studio with a growing feeling of apprehension. "Is that normal for today?"

"Probably not," Maka says, carrying the flowers and chocolate. "But that's a problem for Kid. He's going to have a field day when he comes back from New York tomorrow."

The usually well-lit lobby is pitch black, the air thick with ominous silence. He drifts closer to Maka, tamping down the urge to use the dark as a pretext to hold her hand. "This is exactly like a bad horror movie waiting to happen."

She scoffs. "Ple-"

Her reply is cut short by Soul's choked yelp as someone seizes him around his shoulders and yanks him backward. His flailing fist is caught by a hand and Blake's laughter bounces off the wall. "Gotcha!"

"You asshole!" Soul lets out a growl as he whirls around, squinting in the darkness for telltale blue hair. "Show yourself so I can kill you."

"Save that energy for later," Blake advises as the lights flick back on. He flashes them a toothy grin as he and Tsubaki step forward to Soul and Maka. "You're gonna need it."

Maka lets out a something that borders between a giggle and a scream. "What are you wearing?"

"Behold the best Cupid your mortal eyes have ever seen," Blake declares, face half-hidden by a pair of night-vision goggles. He poses proudly in his toga with his chest puffed out, neon pink hair matches the wings perched lopsidedly on his shoulders.

He looks from the flowers in Maka's hands to Soul and waggles his eyebrows, the bow in his hands loaded with an arrow tipped with a heart. "Though I already worked my magic with you two already."

Maka rolls her eyes. "Sure you did."

Her words dig under Soul's skin like a splinter. He clears his throat and changes the subject. "What made you decide to look like a bedazzled frat boy?"

"We made bets over who could shoot the most people last year," Tsubaki says as she hands them a pair of night-vision goggles and a paintball gun. "I won."

"These are much better than the slingshots we had last year." Maka says, sweeping her hand across the gun as she examines it interestedly. "Are these glitter balls?"

"Red glitter," Tsubaki replies with a serene smile. "Imitates blood quite well."

"So how is this how going to work exactly?" Soul breaks in, nerves already coiling in his stomach. Activities that require physical exertion mix with him as well as oil does with water and he is sure the likely prospect of him falling flat on his butt with Maka as his witness is not one his cool facade will survive.

"Now, where would be the fun in telling you that?" Blake claps him on his back so hard he chokes a little on his spit. "The only thing you need to know is the last one standing wins the fancy dinner."

"I'd get a move on," Tsubaki adds. "It's lights out again in ten minutes."

Maka loops her arm with Soul's, goggles already perched on the top of her head, and his heart stutters at her touch. "Let's go."

"We'll be monitoring everything from the security room," Tsubaki calls as they head upstairs. "Good luck!"

The second floor of the studio is completely transformed, lined in gray tarp. The hushed whispers of unseen co-workers and the punctuate the silence, there is no one to be seen.

Soul feels the anticipation roiling off Maka as they walk down the hallway; she bounces on her toes as they walk, fingernails tapping a staccato melody against the gun. "Come on, I want to lock up my office. Today is gonna be messy."

His impending sense of doom and future humiliation heightens. "I thought this was all for fun."

"It is." The grin she gives him strikes equal parts of fear and awe in him. "Ox nearly lost an eye when I pegged him in the face last year."

"That seems more like attempted murder than fun."

She shrugs. "He did keep the eye so there was no permanent harm done."

He laughs in spite of himself and goes quiet, mind switching to a different train of thought. Fidgeting with the glitter gun, he starts, "So if we win-"

"When we win."

"What are we going to do with the dinner?"

"Accept it." Her matter-of-fact tone sends his heart into overdrive and the playful look she fixes him with sets his face on fire. "I wouldn't peg you as one to reject free food, right?"

"No!" He cringes inwardly at how quickly he answers and hedges for a moment before adding, "I'm fine with going out if that's what you want."

He braces himself in case Maka comes to her senses and realizes they should have broken up a long time ago but instead he hears a smile in her voice as they arrive at her office. "All right then."

She hands him her gun and the flowers. "Hold these while I find a vase."

Leaning against the doorway, he watches Maka rummage through her desk and tries to picture telling her how he feels. _Hey, I know this was only a way to get back at our friends but they kinda had a point and I've accidentally fallen for you so date me maybe?_

Grip tightening around the flowers, he opens his mouth.

"Found it!" Maka's head pops up from under her desk, vase in hand. Wisps of hair fall in her face, her face is scrunched up and there's a pink splotch on her cheek looking suspiciously like desk drawer knob but he thinks she's never looked more beautiful. "I knew it was buried around here somewhere."

She rises, looking at him. "You okay?"

Swallowing his words, Soul closes his mouth and nods.

"Let the Cupid Games begin!" Blake's voice echoes through the studio's speakers as Maka locks her door. "Go forth and show no mercy!"

His battle cry is cut off by Tsubaki, who adds, "Extra ammo can be found in the lobby."

Maka takes her gun from Soul. "Ready to have fun?"

"I still question your definition of fun," he grumbles. He meets her eyes. "But it's a lot better to be with you than against you."

There's a pause before she smiles. Then, she prods him on the shoulder and begins to move. "Wise words."

* * *

Maka comes to a halt at the end of their rout of the third floor. "Do you smell that?"

Soul lowers his gun and sniffs the air. The stink hits him with the force of a truck, a mixture of a garbage dump and rotten fish.

Both he and Maka reach out for each other at the same time and run for the the stairwell. When they reach the second floor, Soul leans against the wall and breathes deeply, welcoming the flashing strobe lights of this level over whatever hell Blake had set loose upstairs. "If next year is anything like this, I'm quitting."

Maka's hand, still in his, twitches. "Next year?"

As always, he realizes his mistake too late, turning his head to see red glitter blooming on her chest before feeling himself being pelted by several objects.

Kim saunters up to them, Jackie beside her, and grins widely. "I would have thought you two would have been harder to take out."

"The games have ended!" Tsubaki's voice comes over the intercom as the regular lights turn on. "Jackie and Kim win. Congratulations!"

Maka peels off her goggles, a strange look misting over in her eyes before she gives the two a bright smile. "Enjoy the dinner."

Soul falls in step with her as she tramps off. "Are you okay?"

She brushes off some of the glitter from her clothes. "I'm fine, just tired."

He waits for her to continue but apparently that's all she has to say. Anxiety itches at the back of his neck and thoughts of where exactly he fucked up threaten to take over. He clears his throat. "Sorry about losing, I know you wanted to win."

She shakes her head. "It's okay, all I want is a shower and a nap."

He wavers for only a second before speaking on an impulse. "I thought we were going out tonight."

She tugs her hair out of her ponytail and shakes her hair, sending a sprays of glitter everywhere. "But we didn't win."

"I never said we had to win for us to go out," he answers, peeking at her face out of the corner of his eye. "We should mix up our routine, right?"

A tentative smile spreads itself across her face and he dares to look at her directly. But then it falters. "Every place has to be booked though."

"I have some strings I can pull." He shoves his hands in his pockets to hide how sweaty they had become and plants his feet into the ground to keep from fidgeting. "So what do you say?"

"And this is an actual restaurant?" she asks.

"The kind with a dress code and multiple forks."

"Multiple forks fancy?" She raises her eyebrows. The corners of her mouth edge upward again and his heart dislodges itself from his throat. "Might need some time to prepare for that."

"How about seven o'clock?"

Her lips bunch together as they reach her office. "That's acceptable."

He basks in the glow of her smile instead of kissing her like he wishes he could. "Sounds like a plan."


End file.
